


Coward

by prepare4trouble



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Family, Frogfic, Gen, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3460409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prepare4trouble/pseuds/prepare4trouble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edgar Frog doesn't run away</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coward

Edgar Frog didn't run away. Not from anything. Ever.

Running meant admitting defeat. It was worse than surrendering. It was telling your opponent that they were better than you; that you were helpless to do anything to stop them and that the only way you could survive the encounter was to escape it.

Running meant weakness. Edgar refused to be weak.

So why was it, he wondered, than he found himself here? Sitting on the bed of some cheap motel a few towns over from Santa Carla, head resting in his hands and gaze focused on the tips of his toes? Even now, with the sun high in the sky, he could feel tendrils of fear uncurling in his stomach and chest, and creeping their way outwards, just beneath the skin.

The thin curtain pulled over the small window blocked just enough of the light to give the room the feeling of early evening. Even that made him nervous. He stood and crossed the short distance. Underneath the threadbare carpet, the floorboards creaked under the pressure of his heavy boots.

He should be sleeping. He should be getting what little rest he could manage to gain valuable strength while the sun's rays could protect him, but he couldn't do it. It took everything he had just to stay still. So then he should be on the move, putting as much distance between himself and his home town as he could before the thing that lurked there awoke and begun tracking him. He couldn't do that either. He couldn't bring himself to run again. If he allowed himself to do that, he might never be able to stop.

And so he sat back down on the bed, next to his remaining teammate, frozen between two impossible choices, staring at paint chipping from the walls and wondering when he had become such a coward.

* * *

_April 1976_

His parents thought he was too young to understand. His mother had said so to his father, right in front of them, so strong was her belief in the stupidity of her sons. But Edgar understood all too well.

He was four years old, and he understood the flurry of activity taking place around him, the packing and the brief arguments about what they could and could not manage to carry. He understood that they were leaving and that soon they would be living somewhere else. He understood that the old man that he and Alan called Grandpa, the one whose occasional unexpected arrival at their door almost always meant they were sent to their room would not be coming with them.

What he didn't understand was why. He wanted to ask, but there was no opportunity. Instead, he sat in the corner of the room, pushing his car around the floor and pretending not to understand. Next to him, Alan was flicking through one of their favorite books. He glanced at his brother, his brother looked back at him and in that glance Edgar knew that Alan understood too, perhaps better than he did.

The only thing Edgar needed to know was that they were running away. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

* * *

_July 1981_

Edgar noticed what was happening from across the street. They were wondering the Santa Carla streets one afternoon, as they tended to do when school was out and there was nothing they could do around the shop. As they walked, he spotted two older boys – teenagers maybe, or not far off – talking to a boy a little younger than them.

Instantly, he felt himself bristle. He stopped walking and observed the scene. By his side, he could sense Alan's confusion.

“What?” Alan asked him.

Edgar nodded at the three boys at the other side of the road. They were standing outside the convenience store where Edgar and Alan bought food and admired the impressive array of candy on offer, even occasionally being given one of two free samples by George, the old man who owed the place.

In one hand, the younger boy clutched a white paper bag, filled presumably with something bought inside. The other two kids were taller, and did not look friendly.

Alan glanced across the road. He sucked in his lower lip and chewed it nervously. “Don't, Edgar.”

Edgar looked from his brother to the boys across the road and back again. “Come on,” he said, tapping Alan in the chest and and turning to walk in their direction. Alan followed reluctantly.

He crossed the road just as one of the older boys grabbed the bag of candy. “You got any money left?” the other one asked. He reached out and thrust his hand into to pocket of the younger kid's jeans.

“Hey, get off me!” the boy protested, trying to back away.

The two bullies laughed, helping themselves to a handful of candy from the bag.

“Hey!” Edgar said, as loudly as he could manage. Behind him, he felt Alan pull on his t-shirt as if to heard him away, but when all three boys turned their gaze on them, the hand fell away as his brother realized it was too late to run and fell in next to him.

“What?” one of the bullies said.

Edgar glared at him, suddenly very aware of his small stature, his lack of muscle and the ridiculous gap where one of his front teeth had fallen out earlier in the week. “He told you to get the hell off of him, so are you gonna take your hand out of that kid's pocket, or am I going to have to do it for you?” he asked.

He tried to crack his knuckles. It might have been mildly threatening it it had worked. As it happened, they stubbornly refused to make any sound. He placed his hands on his hips and attempted to stare the bigger kids down instead.

The older kid hesitated, obviously confused by this younger boy standing up to him. “Who are you meant to be?” he asked, looking both he and Alan up and down. “The candy cops?”

“Someone who knows it's wrong to steal,” Edgar told him. “I happen to know the guy that owns this shop, so why don't you give that bag back before I go and tell him some pathetic little bullies are stealing from his customers?” He grinned widely, “He used to be a boxer, you know. Won gold at the Olympics.”

The kid holding the bag frowned thoughtfully. He stuck his hand inside, took out another one and shoved it into his mouth. He tapped his friend on the arm, “C'mon, this isn't worth the hassle.” He tossed the bag of candies at the younger boy, who almost dropped it but managed to hold on. They walked off down the street, laughing to themselves.

Edgar took a deep breath and released slowly. He wiped a shaking hand across his sweaty brow and looked at Alan.

“You're insane,” his brother told him.

“I just don't like bullies.”

The younger boy smiled at Edgar and Alan. “That was the coolest thing I have seen in my whole life,” he said, and offered them the bag of sweets.

Edgar shrugged, taking one and chewing it slowly. “Lets go,” he said to Alan. They turned to cross the street again.

“Hey, wait a minute,” the kid called. “Do you want to hang out or something? I'm only here for the week visiting my grandpa, but I could really use a couple of friends.” He smiled. “I'm Sam.”

Edgar turned back to him. “Another time. Nice to meet you kid. Stay away from morons and don't go out alone at night. You'll probably be fine.” He crossed the road, Alan by his side, leaving the younger boy to watch them go.

* * *

_Winter 1985_

“Vampires?” Edgar said, staring incredulously at his brother.

Alan was sprawled on the floor, surrounded by newspaper clippings and comic books borrowed from their parents store. He stared at his brother, trying to make himself look as serious as possible. He didn't want to introduce his theory in a way that Edgar might take as a joke. “Vampires,” he said.

Edgar sighed. It wasn't the first time he had heard the word muttered around down. Usually it came from less credible sources; kids at school who giggled as they talked about something heard third hand from a friend of a friend of the family. Everyone knew Santa Carla didn't have a great track record when it came to keeping people alive, but people tended to blame gangs and police incompetence.

Edgar had never really thought too hard about it. He just concentrated on making sure he and his brother were safe and had enough to eat. Then, Alan had kicked a shady looking kid out of the store one night and come back pale faced, swearing that he had seen fangs.

Edgar had punched him in the shoulder and laughed as though he had made the worlds most hilarious joke, then told his brother he had seen one too many horror movies. Apparently, Alan was sticking to his story.

"Okay," Edgar dropped down to the floor next to his brother, examining the accumulated paper on the floor. “Explain."

Alan did, and Edgar listened.

The whole thing made terrifying sense, from the far too many disappearances and the body found drained of blood on the beach the previous summer, to the fangs Alan had seen. But if that really had been a vampire and Alan had made it angry...

Edgar felt cold.

When he had finished his explanation, Alan looked at him, waiting for a response.

Edgar found his gaze drawn to the cover of one of the comic books. The monster on the front cover had a mouth full of fangs, dripping with the blood of a woman held limp in his arms. It's face was that of a monster, its eyes glowed the same red as the blood of its victim. He shuddered.

“Vampires,” he muttered. “You're right, it all makes sense. Why has no one noticed this before.”

Alan shrugged. “So what do we do?” he asked

Edgar got to his feet and walked across the room and back. Alan followed him with his eyes. The monster from the comic book taunted him every time he glanced in that direction. He closed his eyes.

“Edgar?”

His first instinct was to run. Gather their things and leave town. There was nothing for them there anyway. If their parents even noticed they were gone, it probably wouldn't be for a week or so. They could be at the other side of the country by then.

But his mind drifted back to a half forgotten memory, treasured things left behind, the bare essentials shoved into a few battered suitcases and being dragged from his bed and placed in in the back seat of a car in the middle of the night. At the time, it had been exciting, but now it just felt pathetic. Running wasn't an option.

“We could tell the police.” Alan suggested.

Edgar stopped his pacing and turned to his brother. “They wouldn't believe us. Besides, we don't know how high this goes, the vampires could have infiltrated the cops. They could have human minions, brainwashed to do their bidding during the day.” He sat back down on the opposite side of the pile of paper. “We need to do some research. How exactly do you kill a vampire?”

* * *

_Late Summer 1990_

The vampire let out an eardrum piercing shriek as it ran toward him, long hair flowing out behind it, mouth still dripping with the blood of it's victim, the one he had been too late to save. Edgar stood his ground, a stake in each hand. He dodged out of the way at the last second, rolling along the ground and back to his feet with practiced skill. “Come and get me, bitch,” he muttered.

It leapt again, taking to the air this time and flying directly, at him. Edgar dove out of the way again, striking with the stake in his left hand. He missed the heart but pierced the skin of the vampire's arm. Toxic blood welled up there and began to drip to the ground. Edgar smiled. “Hurts, don't it? There's more where that came from.”

He lifted the other stake and aimed it at her heart. Before he could make the killing blow, he felt something behind him. He turned his head a moment too late; a second vampire grabbed him from behind. He kicked, struggled, tried to free himself. The first vampire laughed, a horrible, high pitched giggle.

The second vampire, a male, showed its true face. It squeezed and shook the hand that held one stake until he could hold it no more and it fell, useless, from his fingers. His left hand instinctively dropped its weapon and grabbed at the vampire's undead flesh, trying to save his right before the bones begun to snap. He squirmed in its grip, a wave of panic coming over him. The vampire smiled it's terrifying smile and moved in to bite. Edgar fought the urge to scream as he felt teeth touch the skin just above his jugular.

Before they could pierce the skin, the vampire pulled back, screaming. It let him go and he fell to the ground, landing awkwardly on his damaged hand. He turned to see Alan pulling his stake from the rapidly solidifying body of the vampire as it turned into some kind of stone. Despite the pain, he grinned.

“Fall back!” Alan yelled to him.

Edgar looked beyond his brother to see a third vampire flying toward them. He hesitated. The female screamed loudly and lunged for them. Edgar grabbed the stake on the ground. His hand felt as though it exploded in agony. The fingers were already swollen, badly bruised at best, broken at worst. Definitely useless to him tonight.

“Go!” Alan screamed at him, racing in the direction of the car.

Edgar reached for the stake again, this time with his left hand. He thrust it forward into the chest of the first vampire. She screamed for a final time as she burst into flame. The third approached him. Edgar turned, almost stumbling as he did. A forth vampire had joined the battle without him noticing. He took a step backwards, glancing at Alan, who had stopped running and turned retrieve his brother.

Edgar let out a cry, somewhere between agony and determination. He ran forward, into battle. Behind him, he sensed rather than saw Alan joining him.

His uninjured brother made short work of the obviously inexperienced fourth vampire, while Edgar struggled, exhausted and in pain with the third. Finally, unexpectedly, the vampire disintegrated into a cloud of dust, revealing his brother standing behind it. Edgar coughed, raising an arm to his mouth and nose to avoid breathing in vampire corpse. Alan grabbed him by the other arm and dragged him away.

Edgar grinned at his brother, “Nice work.”

Alan turned to glare at him as he opened the passenger side of the car and shoved him inside. “Edgar, what the hell were you thinking?” he asked brusquely. He slammed the door and let himself in the other side. He held a hand out to Edgar. “Keys,” he demanded.

Edgar fished in his pocket with his good hand and passed the keys over. Alan plunged them into the car and fired up the engine. “What's the problem?” Edgar asked. “We won didn't we?”

Alan shook his head. “Jesus, Edgar, look at yourself. Your hand. And have you even noticed what that vampire did to your neck?” He pulled off his t-shirt over his head as he spoke.

Edgar raised a hand to his throat where the vampire had almost bitten him, it came away wet, red. All of a sudden he knew why he had felt so weak. He hadn't even noticed the wound, so intent on finishing the fight. He'd been close to losing before, but never as close as this. “Shit,” he muttered. 

“Yeah.”

Now that he knew it was there, it hurt. Thank fuck the lore about vampires turning their victims with a bite turned out to be false. Edgar felt sick.

“It missed the major artery,” Alan told him as he reached across and pressed his shirt against the wound. “If it hadn't, you'd probably be dead.”

If Alan hadn't been there, or if he had been there a second too late, the same would have been true. He said nothing. Instead he took over the task of applying pressure to the wound. He wondered how much blood he had lost. It looked like a hell of a lot.

“Look,” Alan continued as he turned the key in the ignition. “I'll follow your commands, you know that, but sometimes you need to listen to me too. You were in no state to fight.”

Edgar sank back in his seat, holding the shirt to his throat. “I don't run away,” he said. He knew even as he said it how childish he sounded, but he didn't care. This was who he was.

“Then you need to learn,” Alan told him simply. “Or you’ll die, and I don't think I could take that.” He sighed deeply. “Come on, lets get you home.” He shifted the car into drive and sped along the dark streets while Edgar closed his eyes and tried not to think about what could have happened.

* * *

_August 1992_

It seemed pathetic to Edgar that he could fit his whole life into one holdall. And that included less than ordinary things; stakes, bottles of holy water, crosses, garlic. They were all shoved into the hastily packed bag among his clothes and the few precious and carefully bagged and boarded comics that meant too much to leave behind.

He'd had more stuff the first time he had been made to flee.

He hated himself for doing this. He hated himself even more because it was the very thing he had sworn he would never do. The bag felt light as he picked it up.

Outside, the sun was just beginning to rise, the black of the night sky slowly turning to blue. He could still be out there, but not for much longer. Edgar had not slept during the night, there were too many unanswered questions; things they had never known because they had never had the opportunity to find out. Did the invitation rule apply to a building that a vampire had once called home? Did he even intend on coming here? Could he be here even now, watching and waiting?

The thought brought a chill to the room. He pulled his jacket tighter around him. Edgar didn't fear death, he never had. What he did fear was the fate so much worse than that; the one that had been forced onto his brother. He had an obligation to deal with it, to help Alan, and he didn't think he would be able to do it. For all his bravado, for all the times they had renewed their promise to not let the other live as a vampire, it turned out in the end that he was a coward.

He knew that Alan knew him too well. He knew his fighting style, he knew his weaknesses, and when he came for him, Edgar knew it wouldn't be with the intention of killing him. He had to do something unexpected, and this was the only thing he could think of.

He reached over and shook the sleeping form on his bed. Sam groaned and stretched. Slowly he came to consciousness and sat up. “Is it time?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Edgar told him.

Sam rolled off of the bed and collected his heavier bag from the floor. “Edgar?” he said. “Are you sure about this?”

Edgar slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the door. He thought of his brother's face, devoid of humanity, mouth dripping with the blood of his first kill. “Yeah, Sam,” he said as he went, “I've never been more sure about anything in my life.”


End file.
